


phantasmagoria

by VITAMX



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 11/16 stream spoilers, 11/20 stream spoilers, A lot of Hurt, Amnesia, Angst, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, GHOSTBUR !!, Gen, Ghosts, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Major character death - Freeform, PLEASE note the tags, Panic Attacks, as funny and nice as ghostbur is....... i had to do it to em, at least i think it was 11/20, based on quackity's funeral stream :], but it happened before this, but its minecraft, but.. you get the gist, from quackity, he.., mc personas, mostly just hurt, not a lot of comfort actually, ooc that sounds really bad, people tend to forget ghosts are DEAD BITCHES, theyre there for a reason, too lazy to quote the stream exactly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:23:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VITAMX/pseuds/VITAMX
Summary: Quackity pauses at first, eyebrows furrowing, and decides, fuck it- Wilbur hasn't changed at all, really.He sputters at Wilbur's pale, grey face, wildly swinging his arms at the giant crater right in front of them. Is he serious?"You're out here telling me trying to get Bad to swear is mean, but you literally blew up L'manburg!" He scoffs, staring at Wilbur's face incredulously.That also means he sees the instant his face changes from something calm and curious to something filled with terror.---Or, Quackity mentions that Wilbur had blown up L'manburg, without realizing that his ghost he'd left behind had amnesia. Things... don't go so well. For either of them.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 305





	phantasmagoria

\---

Maybe Wilbur isn't so bad.

That's one of the many things humming in Quackity's head as he strolls along side a wooden road of L'manburg, a literal _ghost_ of Wilbur hovering in the air behind him as he chats about his- quite genius, mind you- plan of getting _the_ BadBoyHalo to swear, all in the form of a clever game-show ruse.

For some odd reason, Wilbur doesn't seem too enthusiastic about it, but the company was nice, and for a moment, Quackity forgets about the lingering ringing of explosions and screams and the sound of screeching _withers_ -

Focus.

Right! Wilbur. He isn't so bad when he hasn't gone mad with paranoia.

He's quiet and curious, his voice is more high-pitched compared to how it was when he was alive, and he seemed a lot more cheery, too. Quite a stark difference in comparison to Quackity's screams and fake sobbing, or his boisterous laughter and tendencies to scream out swears.

_(It's his charm, Quackity muses. He's able to get a laugh or two out of Wilbur- Ghostbur?- as well, which really shouldn't feel as rewarding as it was.)_

"Listen," Quackity begins, turning on his heel to give Wilbur a mischievous grin. "Listen listen listen, okay, it's _genius_ , I mean- who can resist 50 DOLLARS?!"

" _I probably could!_ " Wilbur smiles helpfully. " _I'm dead, so I don't- I don't need material possessions._ "

"Right," Quackity's grin turns a bit tight, and he awkwardly coughs. "Weren't you talking about a library, though?"

Wilbur's form seems to lag behind for a moment, eyes drifting close before he jumps back to life _(hah!)_ again, tilting his head as he twirls around in the air a bit. Quackity wishes he could do stuff like that too, but- well, flying was banned for a reason, he supposed.

" _It's not for me, really_ ," Wilbur says, humming the L'manburg anthem he had asked Quackity to sing about a half-hour beforehand. He pauses. " _It's not for anyone, really... yet._ "

The silence that follows is only a little awkward, and Quackity's steps shuffle to a stop as he sits down on the edge of the road, staring out at L'manburg. Wilbur notices and hovers down next to him, sighing sadly.

It was a bit odd, seeing Wilbur, the man who _blew up L'manburg_ , might he add, staring so sadly at the mess he himself created. Maybe he really did regret it. Maybe it was an accident- after all, Phil had never spoken much of what happened in the room.

_(Phil couldn't, really, is a better word for it. His wings' feathers would stand up as his shoulders stiffened, staring at his hands like they were the most horrifying things on the planet. No one dared wipe the smile off his face when he'd learned Wilbur hadn't really gone for good- not yet.)_

It was fine. Wilbur was nice to be around, he was a good guy, just- _don't_ think about the massive hole in the ground that he'd created with a smile on his face.

Change the subject. Joke around.

Focus.

"So as I was saying," Quackity begins, cracking a strained grin in Wilbur's direction, who frowns before his face melts into something neutral. "I mean- I gotta get this off my bucket list, man, and I think this is the way to go-"

" _Quackity_ ," Wilbur interrupts in a curious tone, turning his head to look at Quackity. " _That's a bit mean, innit?_ "

Quackity pauses at first, eyebrows furrowing, and decides, fuck it- Wilbur hasn't changed at all, really.

He sputters at Wilbur's pale, grey face, wildly swinging his arms at the giant crater right in front of them. Is he _serious_?

"You're out here telling me trying to get Bad to swear is mean, but you literally blew up L'manburg!" He scoffs, staring at Wilbur's face incredulously.

That also means he sees the instant his face changes from something calm and curious to something filled with terror.

_(Wilbur doesn't just stop. He freezes in the air, not moving an inch- almost like a picture floating in the sky.)_

" _...I did w_ _hat?_ " He asks, meekly.

His eyes- Quackity thinks, surprised- his _eyes-_ blank and white, pupils rolled to the back of his head- they're filled with a wordless beg for it not to be true. Quackity draws back, staggering to his feet. He blinks in confusion, eyes darting to the right, where the remains of the old L'manburg lay beneath the new.

"I-" He huffs, eyebrows furrowing again in confusion. " _You-_ Do you not _remember_ or something? You blew this whole place up after we- you had _just_ won it back-"

" _I don't want to talk about this anymore ,_" Wilbur whispers, and shivers run down Quackity's spine.

Wilbur's voice is silent and barely audible, seemingly carrying itself through the wind, pounding in his ears despite it's quietness, his vision blurring, and Quackity rubs at his eyes with a strangled noise. Wilbur's voice is filled with sadness and diluted horror, and it's too much to bear when it's echoing around in his _head_ -

The whisper falls silent.

"Wilbur?" Quackity gasps, tearing his eyes open as his vision sharpens once more. "What-"

His voice catches in his throat, and Quackity scrambles backwards with a scream, falling onto the ground in horror. No one else is around to hear it.

Wilbur's body is flickering slowly like a broken screen, back and forth between the fuzzy yellow sweater he'd just been adorning to the greyish-brown and black coat he'd worn in Pogtopia.

In the moments Quackity sees the de-saturated coat, he sees it matted with blood, as well; a dark and nasty color- almost a deep brown. There's a sword sticking out through his back, the handle visible as it sticks out from his chest, and the blade is covered in blood and torn fabric.

There's soot and ash stuck to his skin and clothes, and the stench of blood and gunpowder fills Quackity's nose, unwelcome.

And _oh_ , Quackity thinks. _Oh._

He forgot that Wilbur, despite all he was, was still _dead_. How did he forget that? Even Wilbur himself mentioned it whenever he could, and somehow it hadn't really sunk in until now.

_(Wilbur is gasping- Wilbur is wailing, and it's a desperate and choked sound. He isn't crying.)_

Quackity takes a moment to catch his breath, the sounds of Wilbur's deafening whispers and wails echoing around in his ears, and he heaves for breath, desperately trying to speak.

"Wilbur-!" Quackity begins, gasping for breath.

" _I wouldn't!_ " Wilbur screams, tugging on his hair. His eyes, pale and unmoving, seem to glow. " _I- I wouldn't, why would I do that?_"

Beneath his words, Quackity hears a hiss of something else behind them, a subtle echo that screamed, " _how could I?_ "

_(Quackity stares, and he imagines. How cruel would it be, to have an existence made on nothing but emotion? If that is all you are, then what happens when you break down? He stares, and he ponders. He knows the answer now, he supposes.)_

"Wilbur, it's fine, it's fine, we can talk about something else-!" Quackity says hysterically.

" _Phil-!_ " Wilbur gasps, curling up on himself as his voice fills with static. There's blood dripping onto the ground from the wound in his chest and from the sword stuck inside it now, and Quackity feels _sick_. " _Da-d-!_ _W-hy would you-ou do that- that- Why would you kill me\- I can't-n't rememb-er-!_"

Quackity scrambles forward, hoping that his hands won't phase through him as he places his hands on Wilbur's shoulders. Wilbur flinches, and looks at Quackity, finally.

And _God_ , Wilbur looks so _scared_.

_(The whispers stop.)_

"Wilbur," Quackity begins, hands shaking, voice quiet and hoarse. "What, what _was_ that?"

He blinks, and Wilbur is as he was before, the stench of blood and ash gone, the pools of blood that had been forming beneath him leaving not even a stain. There's not a trace of what Quackity had just seen, and he stumbles back, arms falling to his sides as he stares at Wilbur with wide, frightened eyes.

And Wilbur...

Wilbur stares at him like he's a stranger.

_What?_

" _...Do I know_ _you?_ " Wilbur asks, voice light and inquiring as his eyebrows furrow. " _I'm sorry._ _I_ _can't remember much of anything right now._ "

Quackity can't get his voice to work.

Was this- did Wilbur have some sort of ghostly amnesia? What the fuck? What the _fuck_ _?_

" _...I have a library near that hill over there,_ " Wilbur hums, blinking slowly as he stares into nothing. " _Do you want to see_ _it?_ "

_No_ , Quackity wants to scream. He'd really rather go home and lay down on the ground and cry for the next five hours.

"Sure," Quackity says instead, lightheaded.

Maybe he just hallucinated that, he thinks. Maybe he was just delirious, or- or _whatever_ explained all of that.

The walk over there is tense- he thinks he almost passes out at one point, when Wilbur had flickered forward a bit in excitement. He's not sure what to think anymore. He sure as hell doesn't want to see Wilbur like that ever _again, God-_ and he doesn't want to talk to a Wilbur painfully unaware of his own actions.

_(He doesn't want to talk about the thing's he'd unknowingly endorsed while working under Schlatt. He doesn't want to talk about the Festi-)_

Focus.

Wilbur remembers his name as he shows Quackity his library. He snaps his fingers with an all-too-proud grin, and calls him the "guy who married the brit with goggles".

That's got to count for something, right? They can still fix this and be friends, right?

He's reminded of days spent cramped in a ravine, of days where Wilbur would mutter and mumble to himself when he thought no-one could hear him. He's reminded of holding him back from pressing the button that would destroy _everything_. He's reminded of it happening anyway, right after he'd found some semblance of hope.

He's reminded of the days before that. He's only a little panicked to find that he can't remember much of it, either.

He wants to scream. He wants to tear out his hair and strangle Wilbur and ask him why the _hell_ he hasn't left yet, ask him why he ever had to die or blow up L'manburg or try and kill _everyone he knew-_

He wants to ask Wilbur why he died like that. He wants to ask him questions he _knows_ he should never ask- he wants to ask him if it hurt, wants to ask him how it felt.

_(He longs to ask, and yet he knows now that maybe no-one knows, now.)_

Quackity... manages. He leaves the sewers and Wilbur behind in a daze.

_(The next day, he locks eyes with Phil and his shoulders tighten as he traces a finger against his chest, where Wilbur had been impaled. Phil smiles sadly. He doesn't cry.)_

\---


End file.
